


Only Make Promises You Can Keep

by hi_im_dazey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bonding, Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Motherhood, Nightmares, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_im_dazey/pseuds/hi_im_dazey
Summary: A spring morning at the Winchester house, right before Sam was born. A nice domestic moment, with a little comfort for Dean after a nightmare.





	Only Make Promises You Can Keep

**Author's Note:**

> If you look at it out of the corner of your eye, there's a hint of a baby sam!witch, if you want there to be.

  Mary sat on the sofa. The bright spring sunshine flooded through the living room, coating everything in a hazy, golden, morning light. Her feet were propped up on a cushion on the coffee table. Her ankles were puffy, and she was exhausted. John had insisted on making breakfast for them and settling her onto the sofa before leaving for work, admonishing her to rest as much as she could. He’d promised to come home on his lunch to check on her.

  Her due date had come and gone a week ago, and John’s mother hen act had intensified with every passing day. So here she sat, with a pot of tea, a stack of books and crossword puzzles, and telephone within easy reach, just in case.

  Most of the books were science fiction, a few were romance, but one had been slipped into the pile that caught her eye.

  She would never tell John about her upbringing, or, hunt again if she could help it. However, she still had a few of her favorite lore books from her dad’s library. The rare and dangerous stuff was still locked safely in the basement of her family’s old home. Mary kept the deed and the key hidden from John.

  She did not want to have to explain the basement library to him, or the hidden caches of weapons, or the devil’s traps, bottles of water with rosaries floating in them… it just seemed safer to keep the house locked up and forget it existed. One day she’d call on her relatives to help her clear it out, so she could sell it. Once she had some free time and wasn’t pregnant. Once both the boys were in school, maybe.

  She’d had free time before getting married, and before Dean had been born. However, the pain of having to go through the house at all ripped at her heart. The possibility she would let something slip and have a potentially life ruining conversation with John was more than she could have borne. She hadn’t even been able to think clearly enough about it to formulate a plan to do it.

  Dean being born had done something to her, filled her with the love of her son, and the love of being a mother. Dean was the fulfillment of the normal life John had promised her; her little angel. This love had helped to heal the pain of losing her mother and father. She felt now that only a lack of time stood in her way.

  Well, a lack of time, and a giant belly full of Dean’s new little brother. She smiled. The book of lore was resting on her belly, opened to a page containing one of Dean’s favorite stories. This particular book lived downstairs because it was stories about demons, ghosts, and witches, that could easily be modified into fables and read aloud to Dean.

  He didn’t need to know that it was a collection of hunters’ histories that spanned the last century. To him they were heroic tales of fighting for good, with a Mom-supplied happy ending where the heroes always fought bravely, and triumph was guaranteed.

  The denser texts she had kept, all lived upstairs in her closet in a warded, locked chest. But downstairs, in easy reach for her, were a few like this one. Also an illustrated volume of sigils for protection and luck from various traditions, and a bestiary that was full of very little information but had beautiful illustrations that Dean liked to look at. Nothing dangerous or too esoteric in case wandering fingers found them.

  Dean loved it when Mary read to him, and occasionally asked for specific favorites. He’d even shown some interest in reading along, but Mary distracted him with cartoons or readers meant for small children when that happened. She had skipped over and altered enough when she read aloud that he would notice.

  Dean always noticed everything. It was eerie. He could feel moods shifting as if they were visible. He often noticed when she was sad before she did, and his warm little hand would slip into hers, his fingers wrapping onto her pinky with a squeeze.

  Dean looked up from where he was playing with his cars on the floor and saw that Mary had one of his favorite storybooks out.

  “Mom, are you gonna read to me?” His face lit up.

  “If you want.” She smiled, patting the sofa next to her.

  He popped up, leaving a spray of hot wheels in his wake, and climbed onto the sofa, grabbing the blanket John had left there for Mary. He curled himself up next to her and covered himself and her belly with the blanket before resting his head and small hand on his baby brother. He wanted to feel Sammy kick, if he was going to. He thought it was neat that there was a person in Mom’s tummy. That he could already kick was funny to Dean.

  “Make sure you read loud enough for Sammy to hear, too, Mom.”

  Mary chuckled and told him she was sure Sammy could hear her normal voice just fine. When they found out they were having another boy, Mary had broached the idea of naming him after John’s father, since they had named Dean for her mother. Henry was dead, as far as they knew, and it would be a nice way to honor him.

  John didn’t feel his father deserved honoring and even though he had never gotten along with Samuel Campbell, he’d pointed out at least Samuel had never betrayed his family. He’d clearly been extremely upset by the suggestion that his second son be named for Henry, so Mary had, wisely, let it drop. Baby-to-be Samuel had quickly been dubbed Sammy by all three of them.

  Mary smoothed a hand through Dean’s hair and let herself enjoy the wash of maternal love that flowed through her as his thick lashes closed onto his chubby, freckled cheek and he let out a contented sigh.

  She began the story, sure he’d be napping in moments. He never napped for very long, but he could fall asleep faster than you would believe.

  “Once upon a time…” she said, glossing over the words _‘so my partner and I were hunting this sonofabitch demon’_

  Within minutes Dean’s breath was rising and falling in even rhythm, and his little hand was relaxed from its grip on the fabric covering her belly. She kept reading. Sammy didn’t kick as hard as Dean had, but he kicked more often. Like he was tapping out a code; trying to communicate. Dean had kicked like he was trying to escape. But the fluttering feel of Sammy’s kicks settled down as the cadence of her voice traveled through the tale.

  Dean was dreaming soon enough. He was dreaming about the story at first, but just as the heroes in the story had come to a place where their path split before them, he heard what sounded like a small voice. He couldn’t make out what it was saying at first. He was trying to hear the part of the story where the heroes decide if they would split up or not. He knew this part of the story by heart. It was one of his favorites.

  The voice became louder, ‘til finally, Dean turned on the path and saw the source of the voice. It was a little kid, and Dean knew instantly it was Sammy. He also knew that, somehow, Sammy was really there. That he was in Dean’s dream because Sammy wanted to be there.

  He smiled and said, “Hi Sammy!”

  Sammy did not smile. He walked up to Dean, took Dean’s hand and looked up at him with big, fear-filled eyes and said,

  “Something bad is going to come for me Dean, you have to promise you’ll protect me.”

  “Of course, I promise! You’re my little brother. I’ll always protect you.” He squeezed the hand in his.

  Sammy smiled at him then, for just a moment. Then the fear flooded his face again.

  A cloud of smoke whooshed violently out of the woods. It howled and screamed and tore through the air around them. The head of it turned to Dean and split into an evil grin.

  Sickly yellow eyes glowed over the smile that seemed to float at the head of the cloud. Then the smoke swirled, surrounding them. It swallowed them both, whole. His little brother let out a scream of terror. Dean felt the small hand ripped from him and it was like a punch to his heart. Then, the cloud was gone, and Sammy with it.

  Dean woke with a jolt. He let out a gasp. Mary stopped reading and smoothed his hair some more.

  “What’s wrong Dean? Did you have a nightmare?”

  “I… uh… don’t know, Mom” the dream was already fading, leaving a feeling of nightmare, but no useful information behind. He thought he heard a whispered

_‘remember, you promised’_

  Then a very strong kick slammed from Mary’s belly and into Dean’s head. It didn’t hurt, but it both annoyed him and cleared the nightmare feeling out of his head at the same time.

  Dean thought a word he’d heard one of the older, neighborhood boys use. Dean knew it would get him spanked if he said it out loud.

_bitch_

***

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make a nice little moment for Mary and Dean. But of course there had to be a demon and some lying to family, 'cause you know, Winchesters.


End file.
